


You, Me, and a Can of Whipped Cream

by grayskiesatdawn



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: AH - Freeform, All Human, Complete, F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 05:59:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayskiesatdawn/pseuds/grayskiesatdawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A late night snack involving a dessert topping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You, Me, and a Can of Whipped Cream

It's after midnight when I hear the refrigerator open downstairs. I slip down the steps to see if you're sleepwalking like you claimed the last time something disappeared from the fridge. I have my doubts.

As I round the corner, the light from the fridge cuts a wide swath across the dark kitchen. It illuminates you in all your bare-chested glory, and I know you aren't sleepwalking. You see me standing there staring at you, and you know your midnight snacking sessions under the guise of sleepwalking are done.

The door drifts shut as you approach me. The light evaporates into something inkier and deeper than twilight and it takes a few seconds worth of blinking for my eyes to adjust. By then you're standing in front of me, and I feel the cold metal of a can press into the bare skin of my wrist. I shiver.

“Come on. I know you've always wanted to do it. Be naughty for me.”

“Okay.” You still know how to press my buttons after all these years, just what to say, in the right tone of voice, to get what you want.

I try to grab the can from you, but you won't relinquish it from your grasp.

“Let me. Do you trust me?”

“Obviously.”

I see the dim light filtering in from the windows briefly twinkle off the can.

“Open up.” And I do. There is the distinctive whoosh and fizzle from the can as the product is released from its confines. My mouth fills with the cool, creamy confection. I close my mouth as the noise stops. Some excess whipped cream escapes and your finger is there, swiping the cream away from my lips before my hand even gets the chance to collect it. I swallow my treat and stick my tongue out to lap away the remains of my mouthful from your finger.

You pass the can to me and I return the favor, right down to the finger lick. I kiss your lips, and they are sticky and sweet from the whipped cream. I shake the can, knowing it's not the first time you've indulged in your late night obsession of pilfering food directly out of the containers.

I can't quite see it, but I know you're making those sad puppy dog eyes at me, pleading innocence. I can't help but grin. I see the faint gleam of your teeth as you return my smile.

“You like doing this, being bad.”

Even though it's not a question, I answer you. “I do. You bring out the bad in me.”

Your laugh is husky and I know you're planning something. “Chocolate syrup?”

“Why not?” You're spoiling your Christmas dessert. I should know better and not buy the more tempting ingredients so far in advance. I don't really care.

The next morning shows your sexy hair sticking up more than usual. You should shower. I don't remember exactly how the chocolate syrup got in your hair, but I have a good idea.

You're cradling the empty bottle of whipped cream to your chest like its a long lost friend, as you stir in your sleep on the couch. The can didn't last very long once outside of the fridge. But then again, I never think cans of whipped cream last as long as they ought.

 

 


End file.
